These are my people

 

I feel like I just came back from another planet. Planet Cleveland, where 200+ survivors of suicide loss gathered. Where people get me. Where no one rushes over to stop the tears, where I don't feel like a freak if I start crying when I witness a moving story. And there were many, many. Where we took time for ourselves to experience all our emotions, collectively and individually. Grief, big huge grief, guilt, anger, radiance, happiness, joy, and every other feeling you can feel. I can't even say how meaningful this weekend was to me. 

I felt the loving arms of AFSP around me. Every detail was so carefully planned, every speaker was amazing and had a connection to suicide themselves and were open and honest about it. Where the organizer, a man mind you, openly cried on stage when he was thanked at the end of weekend, and DIDN'T APOLOGIZE FOR IT. I don't know his personal story, but he knows we don't have to apologize for breaking down (I'm slowly learning this, too). 

Wow, there was a quiet room with coloring pages and water where anyone could go and take a moment. There was music, laughter, dance, art, sharing, friends, new and old; they all felt like old, dear friends. There was no judgment whatsoever. You might think, what a depressing group. Well, let me tell you, this was not a group of downer people. These were long term survivors who are learning and growing in this journey. They are inspiring, open, caring, funny, effervescent, parents, siblings, partners, friends and family members. They are doing amazing things in their communities across the nation. They travelled hours and hours to get here. This was important work. 

I felt proud to be associated with American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. Good about raising funds for an organization where they focus on programs and research, support and advocacy, and are slim on staff numbers, but the staff  they do have have huge hearts. They are accessible. I met the top leaders, people who have emailed me, and I felt like I already knew. It's pretty incredible. I felt appreciated and held in a warm hug for days, a hug that goes on in this fight I have taken up, to reduce suicide, so less people have to join this club. 

You're why I do this. You matter. Your life mattered.

Adam, 1988, water color by Chuck Melvin

Memorial Day

 Memorial Day has rather special meaning for me. My sister got married this weekend in 1990. I didn't quite know it at the time but my first marriage was breaking apart. In 1999, I had my last alcoholic beverage, May 31. I say it that way because I inadvertently ate a piece of liqueur candy in 2008 in Denmark, took a swig of an alcoholic beverage in Malta in 2017 that was labeled like a fruit drink, and intentionally, on the two year anniversary of my dad's death (February 19) took a sip of Cal's fancy drink, and a sip of Pat's Old Fashioned. It was a stand-in for my dad's favored Manhattan. I have to say, whatever Cal had was delicious but the Old Fashioned was terrible. I never liked the taste of whiskey. But I digress.

In 2013 I visited Adam in Springfield, after having breakfast with a friend. I know this because Facebook reminded me. My own memories are that we were planning to have a cook-out at Adam's apartment and he was going to introduce me to some friends. We were going to go shopping together for all the fixings. As it turned out a big storm came through Springfield, knocking down trees and soaking everything so we went out to dinner at the Chesapeake instead. Just the two of us. Less than 3 years later, he was gone. Now I visit him at Oakwood Cemetery. 

May 27, 2013 was special because Adam was opening to the idea of sharing the world he built in Springfield with me. I eventually ended up meeting his friends through the Out of the Darkness Walks in Springfield. 

Memorial Day weekend would be a time for family gatherings, the Vicks, the Deneckes, whomever could make it. It still is, with one big piece missing. There's some melancholy today, obviously, but I go on. 

Gun Violence

 

I think I made myself clear on Facebook that arming teachers is not the answer. Not mentioned as argument was that teachers are humans and susceptible to a bad day, a bad student (misbehaving), and eventually one would take the life of a student in their care, before they would ever be called to take out an active shooter.

Armed security guards at every school is not the answer. Robb Elementary had one. Didn't stop the shooter. Who wants our children greeted by an AK47 every morning, even if he/she is the "good guy" with a gun. 

Most people don't know there are more suicides per day, year, month than homicides. Over 50% of those are by firearm. I know because my son died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Reasonable gun laws would not have prevented his death. He didn't use an assault rifle, he didn't have a criminal record, and he didn't have a diagnosed mental illness, which by the way, 26% of the population has in any given year. It certainly doesn't mean they are dangerous or should have their guns taken away necessarily. If we start taking guns away for vague mental health reasons, some people won't seek mental health treatment. 

Can I just stick up for the educators and mental health workers for a minute? How many active shooters told their teacher or counselor they were going to shoot up a school, Walmart or Tops that day? Very few, if any, who did actually did it. Many more said it, that didn't.  I know that for a fact, because they are usually evaluated. There are judgment calls all the time, and you can't lock people up forever or without cause. Do we need more access to services? Yes, absolutely. It's way too hard to get help in this country. And way too easy to get guns. 

This morning while swimming, I heard a "pop." I don't know if it was my ear or what, but I cringed and thought of a bullet. Then I thought of all the kids who lived through mass shootings and will forever be terrified when they hear the "pop" of a firecracker or other benign source.

Are there rational solutions? Look at other countries. There are plenty of places safer than the U.S. of  A. I don't have the answers, but we need to do better. Clearly, I am not a fan of guns, and I hope I don't have to move to another country to feel at peace. Or maybe I do. 

Ox Yoke

 Last weekend when I was in Cedar Rapids, I decided to make a pilgrimage on my way home. I went West on I-80 instead of staying South on 218. I drove an extra 25 miles to visit the McDonald's we used to drop Adam off at to meet his dad or grandparents. 

All the way to Cedar Rapids the day before, I tossed memories around of driving Adam back and forth on this same route. The last time was in 2013. He had begun driving himself to Nebraska some years before, but this year he had taken our manual transmission Corolla, and the transmission went out just East of Des Moines. He had gotten the car towed and a hotel room for the night, and I drove up to get him the next day. I was on summer break from my school position. He was a little shook up from handling this adult problem, and no, I don't remember much about the ride home. I hope it was pleasant and that we had some nice mother-son time together. I'm thinking that was the time Eli, Cal, and I drove Adam back to Springfield, went to the White Oaks Mall, and walked down an embankment to eat lunch at Chipotle, my first time eating there. It took about a week for the mechanic at the Schoolhouse Garage (I'll never forget it) to fix the car, so Pat and I drove back the next weekend and picked it up. 

I digress.

When I got to the McDonald's at the Williamsburg exit, I remembered the grim feeling of sending him off to a life I wasn't part of, if only for a weekend or a week at a time. I broke down pulling into the parking lot, and walked in tear-streaked. I looked around the dining room for the memory of waiting with my little guy. It was unusually un-busy that day, while I remember it being an absolute zoo whenever we would go there. I used the restroom and left. 

Next I drove back East on 80 and pulled into the Amana Colonies exit, even though no restaurants were listed on the highway sign. Alas, the old Ox Yoke restaurant with it's fake Tudor styling, was closed, run-down, depressingly dilapidated. The Ox Yoke was the first meeting place where would we sit down and have a cup of terrible coffee and maybe something to eat: pie or a Reuben sandwich. Try to find something cheap to buy the kids from the tacky gift shop to shut them up. I snapped a few photos as I stared at old building. Guess I would not have my snack I was looking forward to. 

It felt good and right to take this journey honoring my first born. Was I sad? Yes. Was it worth it? Yes, the least I could do to bring Adam closer and let him know I am still thinking of him and remembering the gift that he was. 

P.S. After I went back to sleep after writing the above, I dreamed Adam came home. In the flesh. So real. He had a plausible explanation for why he disappeared, but didn't explain how he faked his death. I was so excited for his brothers and cousin to be surprised, but they kind of acted like he was never gone. He said he was clear now, had his "shit together" and was getting a good job. He was heavier and sweeter and it was the best feeling. It felt like, "Thank god you're finally here." 

BLOOM

 

Is this not the cutest flyer ever created? The Park District helped design this beautiful announcement of an upcoming class I am teaching for them. Am I nervous? Yes. Excited? Yes. Nervcited is how I like to think of how I feel when something is coming up that gives me butterflies. I did a trial run of this workshop last summer with friends, so I'm pretty sure I can pull it off. I offer the tools, the participants do the work to make changes in their lives. A little like coaching. A little like counseling. 

I took a bold step and asked the park district if they would be interested in having me teach this class for them. What was there to lose? They said yes. That's what I've been working on: being bold. Or at least more bold. 

Now we have to see if 4-10 people will sign up. I could meet an entirely new group of locals. That would be pretty cool. 

Gobsmacked

Just when I'm noticing I haven't cried in awhile, or been caught off guard with some random occurrence that sets off an emotional cascade, it happens.

Friday night on the way out of a restaurant, I ran into a couple of bereaved parents. We briefly talked about attending a child loss support group on Tuesday. Our sons were friends at different points growing up. Their son died after Adam, and when I visited them after their loss, they reminded me of things I had forgotten: the boys wrestling together, going to church camp, and attending the post-graduation river cruise. When I saw the dad outside I got really choked up and teary-eyed. 

I was with someone who keeps their emotions tightly buttoned up (until they are not). They rarely speak of Adam or his death, so I don't bring it up. After I introduced them to each other, and we were in the car on the way home, they asked what I was doing on Tuesday evening. I said I was attending Compassionate Friends for parents who have lost a child. They replied something like, "Oh." 

I have wondered to myself recently why I don't talk to this person about Adam. They were as close to Adam as most anyone, and I know they just don't know what to say. I tell myself I don't start the conversation because I don't want to wind up taking care of their emotions. But maybe I am just being stubborn and selfish. 

Suicide is Preventable

 Here is a potentially triggering sentence. It was mentioned a few times at a volunteer training for American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. It was noted, this is not say every suicide can be prevented, or to make anyone feel guilty or responsible who has experienced suicide loss. 

Suicide is preventable the way child abuse is preventable. No one has to die by suicide or be abused as a child for the world to go on. In fact, it would be a better place, I think we all can agree. Some diseases are preventable with proper lifestyle habits. If we didn't believe all of this, we wouldn't try to improve our mental health, learn better parenting skills or exercise and eat our fruits and vegetables. There are people lucky enough (I don't know any) to master this trifecta. 

I can get on board with this suicide is preventable idea, knowing that it will strike some as a judgment. My mission is to be a light in the dark tunnel of suicidality. Let's de-mystify this word, reach out with kindness, and put positivity out there. Think before you speak, write, or post and help others to know they are special and valued. 

Me at 59

 Meditation and sleep produce such wild thoughts for me. This morning during meditation, my mind said, "If you could switch places with Adam right now, would you?" The resounding answer, especially after thinking it through is, Yes, absolutely. 

I'm 59. I often think if my time was up, I would feel good about what I did, who I was on earth. I lived hard at times, I experienced joy and sorrow on the deepest level. I did many, many things I wanted to, and have been blessed exponentially. I gave it all I had. So yes, to give Adam another chance to live his life, especially with the clarity I believe he would have now, is a no-brainer. I wish I could plop him right back down to earth, at 33 years old and ready to give it another go. The past six years would have been hard on him in this life, but wisdom comes with age. He could do all the things he dreamed of. He would know all the things that happened after he was gone, how much love and respect there was for him. How he helped people he didn't realize. What a diverse array of friends he had and how unique he was. He could build on  this. It's exciting to think about. I'd like to write this up as a short story or novel. 

My belief about our soul is that once it leaves earth, it is unburdened of all the entrapments of our physicality, our emotional injuries, our burdens and foibles. We are pure awareness, and it's totally freeing. This pure, softer, gentler Adam would do amazing things. I am thankful for my ability to imagine such wonderful images. 

Legendary Richard

 How we used to give my father, the legendary Luddite, such a hard time about his computer woes. He swore every time, "Hal" was purposely vexing him. 

I bought my first new computer in God knows how many years: 12, 16? My most recent one was Legendary Richard's old laptop. I struggled with its slowness and finding my files in the cloud, until it finally refused to do simple things like check boxes. Do you know how many boxes you have to check or fill out on a daily basis? Deleting an email, filling out a registration form, ordering from Amazon- all require box checking. And did you know a computer eventually won't do this anymore? Neither did I.

Before that, I used Adam's gaming computer from 2016 to 2021. I had it repaired a couple of times, and the last time it died I just gave up. I decided rather impulsively yesterday was the day I had to have a new desktop. Yes, I like, no make that love, a full size screen and keyboard. People who use their phones for everything, I just don't understand. 

Back to Richard. I feel you, Dad. I can't access my paid Microsoft office suite, I hate Edge, all this verification crap Google and everyone else puts you through is for the birds. Setting up a new computer is supposed to be easy. Eventually I will get it together. I'm trying to have patience and not complain out loud. 

And why do they put the USB ports on the back of the computer? Maybe no one uses these anymore. Me and Richard, we have issues. Where are those floppy discs? What does it matter? We are lucky my mom has given up trying to learn anything new. She just asks us if she needs something computer related. But dad never gave up trying to use his computer. It was his connection to the outside world, as his body and his world shrank ever smaller. 

Sundays

 Isn't early morning time just the best? My pounding head gets me out of bed pretty often. 

We had an amazing trip after all. Perfect 80 degree days. Only one skanky motel, and it made for a good story. Cal was a wonderful host and gave us all the attention we needed. Our main hotel was nice; heated pool which made for a lot of relaxation. Two days at the beach. Mild sunburns only. 

May I just brag on Eli a minute? He was obsessed with Harry Potter as a kid, started reading the books in 2nd grade and eagerly awaited the release of each  one. He was obsessed with the movies, and I'm sure as he grew up, the music, too. What a thrill to fast forward 20 years later and he is professionally playing parts of the John Williams score from the HP movies. The conductor had edited movie clips to play on a large screen above the orchestra that matched the pieces. It was so cool. They sounded so great. I was telling everyone around me my son was in the symphony, and so was Pat. I felt the only thing missing was having Adam there, too. But then I decided he was. The five of us in this grand concert hall listening to our brother/son play his heart out. Funny, the three of us were seated separately, having gotten our first "comp" tickets in a sold out hall. So it gave me more time to reflect and soak up the moment. 

After the concert, we went to dinner and the four of us chattered and interrupted one another, but I don't think anyone minded. There was so much to talk about. Then Eli was off to Tallahassee and we drove back to St. Pete. The two hours flew by as we had meaningful conversation with Cal. The day could not have been any better. 

Adventure

It's interesting to me how brains work. Mine anyway. I've been dealing with First World problems and not only getting frustrated, but anxious and unhappy. 

You see, the snow cancelled our flight to Florida (waa wa wa ). Maybe I should have been able to re-book an earlier flight?, which a. I don't think there was one and b. I was convinced if I did the storm would have come early. Wonderfully my agent, thank god I gave up trying to do this myself, got us re-booked in time to see Boy/Man 28 play in a professional symphony on Sunday. I had hotels to cancel and re-book, plans to adjust, and double the drive time to the airport, each way. And oh, yeah, we're flying in 2.5 hours away from where we are going. Then I decide to worry that I booked skanky motels and we'll get bed bugs. 

Then suddenly last night while reading, my brain got happy and excited. It literally flipped on. Then it was gone again, and I started perseverating on problems. Then I consciously wanted to get my happy back, and I told myself, "You're going on an Adventure." It's different than you planned, but damn girl, you are one lucky SOB. 

This I call "walking the walk." In my line of work I suggest all the time that changing your thoughts can change your emotions. Don't read this as 'you can change your thoughts and emotions all the time.' I have many other internal dialogues and methods for overcoming unwanted states of mind, but this one happened to work in this situation. I think I had to have a little time, too, to readjust what I thought was going to happen and accept the new circumstances. Maybe this happens in the 2nd and 3rd World as well. 

Pieces

 Everyone who ever knew or met Adam has a piece of him. This occurred to me walking on the Y track today when I encountered a retired janitor from the high school, who interacted with every single kid who set foot in MHS. What a good heart. I can tell by Facebook posts he treats and supports every kid equally, whether they had money, nice clothes, or different color skin than he. He has a piece of Adam but he didn't share. I get it, it's hard to talk to someone about their dead child (among other things, it makes you think 'what if I lost my child?' 'what if I cry', and yes, I've been on the other side, pre-2/2/16), and honestly, today I would have burst into tears if he did; just thinking what he "could" say had me tearing up. People can't stand it when a grieving parent cries; they absolutely don't know what to do. Unless they've been there, too.

I have gotten many valuable pieces of Adam from different people and damn, am I grateful. Those mean more to me than any "I'm sorry" ever will. Sorry, not sorry; I do appreciate the sorrys, but I hunger for the stories and bits and pieces, even if they are unflattering. 

The last thing I want is a false story, made up to make me feel better. Sometimes I sniff those out, but I can never be sure. People are so multi-faceted that maybe some impressions that don't ring true, are true. The hardest to believe are things like "he loved you so much," "he talked about you," and "he really looked forward to seeing you." Maybe those are true, but him saying that to someone else?? Hard to picture. I'm just being honest. 

And so I wait for the next nugget to drop. I'd like to ask, but don't want to make anyone feel uncomfortable. I'll let you know what I hear, and you can decide if it's true or not. 

2-2-22

 It's hard to even put words to today. I just gut it out. I thought I would post Adam's memorial video but I couldn't find it. All these things don't really matter, if I have them, if I don't. 

Walking the line of remembrance, public acknowledgement and not wanting to appear as attention seeking. 

It's a big snow day (for Illinois). Adam loved being outside and playing in the snow in Western New York and Macomb. All the kids would bundle up and meet outside with sleds and shovels and start making snow forts or dragging each other around on the sleds. On special days, it's off to the sledding hill (Pat, you're the best!). I hope all the kids get to do that today. Scratch cookies and hot chocolate afterwards. A perfect day. 

Novel Corona Virus

 Novel: new, a book. Corona: a beer. Virus: mutant cells attacking my body, something that happens to computers. I don't know where I got it or when I got it. I was pretty shocked to see the results about 5 p.m. Sunday. I tested that morning after feeling achy and coughing when I woke up. I didn't want to go to work without knowing. 

Remember at the beginning of the pandemic when quarantine was 14 days if you were anywhere near it? I couldn't, and still can't imagine being locked in a room that long. With being triple vaxxed, I just heard this term Saturday, I only have to stay in my room and be waited on for 5 days. I'm not allowed back to work for 10 days. That's 1/19. I was hoping I could return Monday. The days are going faster than I expected. I have a few little tasks I can do with Pat out of the house most of the day. I fixed a salad, watched TV, and did some laundry. This blog and some financial tasks are still on my "to do." 

I am reading old newspapers, a novel "The Alice Network" (a little WWI and post-WWII drama), and napping. A lot of napping. When I'm sick in bed it makes me think of Adam's last days. If this is a bit of what he felt like, and he had no hope of it ending, I get it. I wish he would have thought of other alternatives, or been able to ask for help. I could have gone to Springfield and helped him get help. I could have paid out of pocket. We could be living a different life right now. I've just learned of two fresh suicides, young men. I'm so, so sorry that we aren't doing a better job helping people cope. I don't want to only be on the back end, supporting survivors. Even if I feel I'm terrible at it, I am going to try to reach more people in 2022 with educational programs and opportunities for people to see that's it's okay to talk to someone. When I do this work it feels scary, and good. When I doubt myself, I say, "Somebody's got to do it." 

We are coming up on that day, six years ago. Yes, the cold, stark January leads me to thoughts of February 2, 2016. We thought everything was going along fine, and then it was not. I will have to settle for knowing maybe I can help someone else. 

Out of the Darkness Walks

 My brief reprieve from chairing our local OOTD Walk is over. It's January and time to start planning for Walk 2022. It will be our seventh year.

My purpose today is to put into words what this walk means to me. The obvious is that it is my (our) one time during the year for us survivors of suicide loss to pay public tribute to those we have lost to suicide. We can see each other and others can see us, and maybe remember to be a little kinder, a little more vigilant with those we worry about. Perhaps someone will be driving by and having suicidal thoughts and see the signs: You Are Not Alone, Stop Suicide, and reconsider their plans. Yes, this did happen at least once that we know of. There may be another survivor driving by who has never talked about their loss, and decides to look us up and attend next year. It's not so scary. 

Personally, this is my gift to Adam, the least I can do to bring about awareness and change in our little spot in the world. I have been given in return the greatest gift to come out of his horrible loss. Friendships and support deeper than I could have imagined. You see, you understand, you fervently hope this doesn't happen to you. Whatever the connection, it feeds my soul and keeps me going in honor of the boy-man who made me a Mommie. This one's for you, Nuke! 

New Year New Me

 We've heard this one before. Reflections of 2021, Resolutions 2022. It's that time of year, between Christmas and New Year's when we get our collective shit together. 

This morning I am pleased to report I swam laps for the first time in nearly two years. The water was surprisingly warm, could not have been happier about that. I realized I had nearly forgotten the 12 Steps. This is the mantra I use to swim 25 laps, one step per lap, forwards and backwards, with the ending of How it Works during the 13th lap. I couldn't remember the 1st step. I got the second step and regained my old rhythm. After the 4th lap, the flow is on, it's not a struggle. My breath is like a fish. As easy as walking...though my arm strength is a bit low. The 11th step is my favorite. I like the number 11, and Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God, as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out is a beautiful sentiment to rise to. I use the last bit in prayer quite often. 

On the way down from 12, I did recall the 1st step: Admitted we were powerless over alcohol and our lives had become unmanageable. I came to this conclusion in 1999 and have not looked back. While others drink around me much of the time, I remind myself that alcohol wouldn't add anything to my life that I truly desire and may destroy some things I treasure, namely my mental health. 

My hope is to swim a couple of times a week. It felt good and right and I've missed it. I probably need to touch in with my program, too, as my swim today pointed out. 

Mouse Stirring

 Yes, this  mouse is stirring again. Christmas morning, way morning. 2021. The year that followed the Covid year, that became another Covid year. 

My thoughts go to and have been going to, finishing our 6th year without Adam. As the material things that connected me to Adam break down, give out, or are consumed (believe it or not, I still have tea from Adam; if you know me, you will surely believe it), I feel myself moving into an inevitable new phase. That distant one of the mother who has lost her child and doesn't break down when talking about their person for the first time with someone.  The one where people look at her and barely remember she is a suicide loss survivor, as she has so visibly moved on. The one where I creep closer to the point where I will find out if there is an afterlife where we are reunited (in a natural way, of course).

I don't know, it's weird to think I will possibly be one of those moms who lives long enough to be without Adam as long as I lived with Adam. If you do the math, this assumes a realistic estimate (both my parents lived past 79 years of age). 

This insomnia reminds me of Adam. If he were here for Christmas, he would be prowling around, socks on the living room floor, remnants of a snack in the kitchen. We could meet for a chat, rather than meeting in a blog filled with all my feelings and musings. 

I appreciate every reminder of my best boy: the watch on my wrist, the memory shared that includes Adam, a picture trapped in time, friend or family speaking his name, and every question about how I am doing now. Honestly, I don't get that last one much, and that's okay. I'm not sure how to answer it anyway. 

God's Paintbrush

 Driving home from Rock Island after dropping off Cal and A, there was before me what I can only describe as one of the most gorgeous yet desolate, 180 degree sunsets that central Illinois has to offer. There were many jet trails across the sky, reportedly being the busiest travel day of the year. To say I was sad, just touches the tip of it. I had driven close to the Bed and Breakfast Pat and I stayed at on December 26, 2015, the last day we saw Adam. The last good-bye we didn't know would be forever. Just that sombered my heart. It wasn't a hard cry or even a soft cry, just a heaviness. And I know I just made up a new verb. 

I felt sad retracing the road I had just traveled with Cal and A. It seemed like a month had gone by since I picked up Cal at the airport and we had lunch at the Maple City Diner. It was only a week. 

We had a nice Thanksgiving week, with plenty of company. I'm not gonna lie and say I don't like having my house back. I'm happy to see 'em come and happy to see 'em go, well, sort of. Today not so much. 

How can there be a new Covid variant, racial injustice, mental health crises, war, ugliness and hate in a world that is simultaneously so beautiful? We are back to the ruthless furnace of this BRUT-iful world. See blog of 8/22/21.

I did stop to snap this pic, of course it doesn't do the scene justice

Labyrinth Walk

 

This is not what the labyrinth looked like on Halloween. I was mentioning how cool it was last spring when recently burned. This picture was taken March 1, 2021 (my birthday). Yesterday, Halloween, the grasses were well over my head, and only a little falling over the path. The labyrinth is sturdy, isn't it? When the wind knocked them down in September, they stood back up. Ahh, nature, it never disappoints, does it?

This walk was special. This walk was led by M, an 18 year survivor mom, me, a 5+ year survivor mom, and T, a 1.1 year survivor mom. This is my support group, this is where it's okay to be the me nobody sees, not even my family. We can say or ask anything. Two hours passed in the blink of any eye. T led the way out, followed by me, then M. Another two hours in a coffee shop. 

What we shared was private, cleansing, validating, and needed. I didn't know I needed it, but heading into winter, holidays, and the inevitable approach of February 2, I did. There's someone I want to reach out to. I don't know how it will go, but I need to try. My old and new friend reminded that there is nothing like sharing this heavy burden with someone who knows. 

On Phones, Social Media, etc.

 At 4:30 a.m. I shut off my phone for 24 hours. I realized yesterday (not for the first time) what a time and energy sucker phones are. My FOMO (fear of missing out) gets worse the more I scroll. I pick up my phone for no reason, or some reason I can't remember. It seems we don't think any more. We just look everything up- a recipe, a name, a location, a definition. 

We are never bored, although my phone is exceedingly boring. What I mean is, waiting time is no longer used to think, create, dream. It's scroll, scroll, scroll. I remember the days when waiting in line was an opportunity to talk, to make up games (who can hold their arm up the longest?), or look up and see a stranger or old acquaintance one could have small talk with. Once when we were waiting hours for the Boston Pops to play, we sat on a blanket and played a made up game of Password. When we were bored in church we passed notes back and forth. 

So, it is time for a break. I will talk to my sister on my mother's landline, I have access to a laptop, and anyone who needs me can stop by or call Pat if there is anything urgent. Today is my day to live like the good old 90's, even though I didn't get a smart phone until 2019. I will read, write, create, and watch the rain pour down. It will be lovely.